


After, when you saved me

by lightly



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-28 16:06:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/309632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightly/pseuds/lightly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was always sunny and that was just plain wrong.  Graveyards were just that, grave.  The sun defiled the shadows; it was always hard to be sad when your surroundings looked happy.  Yet sad he was, as he laid the same flowers on her grave.  On the same spot, at the same time, oh, he knows he has done this before, but each time feels new.  He leans down to talk to her, she can hear him, he knows she can and this time she will wake up, won’t she?</p>
            </blockquote>





	After, when you saved me

It was always sunny and that was just plain wrong. Graveyards were just that, grave. The sun defiled the shadows; it was always hard to be sad when your surroundings looked happy. Yet sad he was, as he laid the same flowers on her grave. On the same spot, at the same time, oh, he knows he has done this before, but each time feels new. He leans down to talk to her, she can hear him, he knows she can and this time she will wake up, won’t she?

He never expects the hand, though he should by now, it is the thing that draws him from the dream. But not this time. The flesh feels warm, but doesn’t look burnt, it should, she burned. The hand is followed by an arm, an elbow, a string of gold. No this is wrong, it shouldn’t go this far.

“Wake up, Sam.” She says through lips that are as perfect as he remembers, but the voice isn’t hers. “Sam, you have to wake up now.”

 

I.

 

He jolts awake, as soon as he does he wishes he hadn’t, that shit hurts. He tries to blink away the darkness, but it doesn’t want to go. He feels wrong, and sticky. Why the hell does he feel sticky? He tries to ask the black void in front of him, but his voice doesn’t work. The only noise he hears is the wet sound of breathing.

Memories can be painful, but not nearly as painful as reality, and it hurts like hell when it all comes back to him. The void retreats and he can see again, the first thing he does is close his eyes. He can hear his Dad breathing beside him. It’s faint and bubbles with a small sucking sound that will have him worried when he can feel something beyond pain.

“Dean?” He thinks he says, but he’s not sure if the word hits the air. “Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean.” The litany is futile, but comforting. There is blood on the rear view, he can’t see its reflection, he can’t see Dean, he can’t hear Dean, he can’t . . . “Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean.” The word is safe, its home. He keeps up the soft mumbling as his instincts kick in. Slowly, he claws for the lifeline in his pocket.

 

The lights are pretty and blue, he is pretty sure that blue is his favorite color, but it’s hard from him to tell right now. He hears voices, none of them are the one he really wants to hear right now, but they say nice things.

“It’s ok, we got you.”

“Calm down son, it’s all right.”

“He’s not breathing!”

Ok, that voice said a bad thing, he didn’t like that voice.

“You gotta help him, he’s my brother!”

“Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean.” The word is a prayer; it follows him into the black.

 

II.

 

He could hear beeping, why was his alarm going off and why did it sound so strange?

“Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean.”

“Shhh, it’s ok.”

The world was white and harsh, too bright to be normal, too still to be home. It took some time for the wall to focus itself, or was that for the focus to wall itself? He was having trouble telling if his mind was working straight. This white world was confusing; he wanted to back to where it was warm and dark.

“Don’t you dare.” The voice was soft, but still it rips its way through him, dragging him further from sleep.

“Dean?”

“Maybe you should open your eyes.”

“I thought I had.”

“Almost. . . no, don’t try to sit up.”

The world around him was still painfully white, but Dean was in it, so it had to be good for something.

 

III.

 

The Chapel was cold and gray, but quiet, and that’s what Dean needed right now, hospitals could be noisy sometimes. The little old woman sitting on the front pew hadn’t moved in the last hour, so it came as a shock to Dean when he felt her hand on his shoulder. She didn’t say anything, just looked at him with sad eyes and nodded. She understood. People only really came in here to beg for someone’s life. Dean was never above begging, not when it really mattered.

“You give him back to me, we’re not done.”

Sam wasn’t going to go out like this, Dean wasn’t going to let him.

 

IV.

 

“Sam, you have to wake up now.”

Jess was pulling him along, pulling him away from the pain. Pulling him into the ground even as those words left her mouth. It wasn’t her voice, though, it was never her.

“Sam, you have to wake up now. Please, for me.”

 

V.

 

It had been three months since the crash. Dean knew their Dad was still severely broken, but last time they had seen him he had smiled. That was good, right? You can’t keep a Winchester down. Sam was walking now, slow, but surely, and Dean could almost stand up straight without feeling like he was tearing a hole in his abdomen.

They were supposed to be dead, hell, they should be, but Dean wasn’t going to pass up the chance they had been given.

At night they slept close, arms locked together like before. Each took comfort in the other’s breath on their neck.

“Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean.”

“You know, Sammy, I heard you the first time.”

 

FIN


End file.
